


Heartbeat for a Demon

by SansPeridot



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Romance, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Demons, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gods, Haru being Haru, Heroes to Villains, Mute Persona 5 Protagonist, Name Changes, Parent Death, Past Abuse, Permanent Injury, Persona 5 Spoilers, Psychological Horror, Roleswap, Scars, Skeletons In The Closet, Spoilers, The Velvet Room (Persona Series), This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansPeridot/pseuds/SansPeridot
Summary: Something has been born within the shadows of Tokyo. A God ushered in to grant the wish shared by so many, despite their ignorance of it. Darkness twists and writhes within the dreams of every single person thanks to its arrival and none can pinpoint the reason why night seems so much longer lately, the days so fleeting.There is, however, a small handful of people fighting against it. A group formed from the fallout left behind by the God's actions. They are few, but they are powerful and they are determined.Time is running out for them, but that changes nothing for their leader. No matter the price, regardless of what he must endure, the one who bears the title of Struggler Against Fate will drag the newborn God into the light.And then, with his own two hands and the fangs he's honed over the course of the past year, he will tear it apart and devour the pieces until nothing remains.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Okumura Haru, Kurusu Akira/Okumura Haru, Okumura Haru/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Velvet Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have some similarities to the one that you all know.
> 
> However, be warned that there will also be a large number of differences that may confuse you at the start.
> 
> Rest assured, dear Reader, that this is all done with purpose.
> 
> All will be revealed in due time.

［ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ： ？？？］

［ＴＩＭＥ： ？？？］

Ren Kurusu opens his eyes to the sight of his old bedroom and thinks he must be dreaming.

And so, because it’s not real (because it can’t be real, not after he’d been permanently exiled from the house he’d grown to love and call home) he decides to explore. This, he reasons, is his last chance to see it one more time before the memories fade away and the details are forever lost to time's march.

He starts with a cursory glance around the room. All of his belongings are still here, from movie posters, to the full bookshelf and even his desk is still littered with complete and still being built Featherman figurines. Ren can’t help the brief stabbing sensation blooming in his chest when he’s forced to confront the reality that he’ll never see most of these things ever again.

After all, his father made it a point to destroy as much as he’d been able to before Ren managed to pack (hide it away somewhere safe so he couldn’t break the rest) for his departure. All that remains of his childhood treasury now are the still unopened Gray Pidgeon figure, a pathetic handful of books, some clothes and the remaining section of a particularly important poster Ren somehow salvaged from his father’s makeshift burn-pit.

That’s all he has to his name now, aside from the memories. Not even his old name truly belongs to him anymore. After everything was finally settled in the courts, Ren was forced to walk away with his mother’s name in order to appease his father’s desire to be as cut off from one another as they possibly could be.

With that somber thought burning a hole in the back of his mind, Ren turns to the door and then proceeds down the hallway. Their house had always been on the smaller side, but now it feels positively suffocating. Every step makes him feel more and more like he’s drowning, the air itself thick with an unknown weight that won’t let him take a deep enough breath. This hallway used to leave him with enough room to hold his arms out without his fingertips touching the walls, but now his shoulders are scraping against them as he trudges forwards.

After what feels like an eternity, Ren arrives in the living room.

It’s here that the scenery of his dream becomes more and more realistic. While his room had been a carbon copy of how he remembered it before everything happened, the living room conforms to the shape of how things had been **after**. Smashed windows, shattered television set, cracks along the walls from the impact of things thrown with the intent to hurt. Not even the carpeting had been spared his father’s wrath, with small holes burned from dropped cigarettes and stained patches from spilled alcohol (and blood).

It still smells faintly of metal and smoke.

The sight is, frankly speaking, too much for Ren to handle. Everything still feels too fresh, too raw. Which makes sense considering the fact it hasn’t even been two months since it all happened.

So, Ren does the same thing he’d been forced to do in the waking world: he leaves.

The front door is somehow still pristine, despite its surroundings looking like ground-zero for some suburban war. Ren reaches out, gripping the knob with one hand, dimly noting that his hands are unblemished, free from all of the scarring he knows his waking body carries. It’s then he also realizes his chest is currently free from the perpetual ache he’s grown so intimately used to. Ren briefly contemplates looking at his chest and neck in a mirror to see if his father’s handiwork really is absent, but he shrugs off the desire, chalking it up to an eccentricity of the dream itself and nothing more.

Ren eventually pushes open the door with ease, the hinges slightly squeaking just like he remembers. (His father always put off greasing them because his mother was, for some inexplicable reason, fond of the sound, which meant it stayed exactly as it was).

Beyond the door, however, is not the street he’s walked countless times. Instead, there is now another hallway with a midnight-blue rug covering the floor. The hallway stretching out before him, unlike the dream version of his house, is quite spacious. The walls and ceiling are so far separated that it makes Ren feel dwarfed by their sheer size. The weirdest part though, is that Ren doesn’t feel the least bit afraid. A far cry from the creeping anxiety the familiar sights of the place he’d spent the past seventeens years now evoked.

A soft, soothing light radiates from all around him, bathing everything in an azure haze. Ren can’t tell where it’s coming from, but it brightens the surroundings enough that seeing isn’t a concern. Step after careful step carries Ren forwards for reasons he can’t properly articulate. It’s not as if he feels any strong urge to go forwards; it’s more like... he simply has nowhere else to go, BUT forward.

An oddly fitting sentiment, all things considered.

And so, it’s not long before Ren reaches the end of the gargantuan hallway. Here, he finds a door that, like the hallway, he’s never seen before. It’s blueish silver, like liquid mercury mixed with the color of the sky, and decorated with impossibly intricate carvings along its entire surface. The handle, a heavy looking golden lever, almost seems to be pulsing with something Ren can feel echoing in his bones.

A small, almost imperceptible voice whispers in the back of Ren’s head when he reaches out to grasp it.

_[...There will be no going back.]_

Ren’s hand pauses, the fact that this is all just a dream momentarily forgotten.

_[...If you proceed, there will be pain.]_

The voice’s warning only makes Ren chuckle at the sheer absurdity of it.

It starts as a lighthearted sound that slowly devolves into bitter laughter. Visceral and uncontrolled, it drips with the faintest touch of insanity and desperation. Ren finds himself grateful that he’s alone because if anyone else heard him right now, they’d think he’s lost his damn mind. An assessment Ren wouldn’t be all that able to refute, honestly.

...Go back?

Go back to **what**?

A ruined home, full of nothing but agonizing memories? A town, populated by nothing but self-serving, backstabbing garbage? A life, that fell apart the moment difficulties too complex to explain in a single sentence cropped up?

No, there’s nothing behind him anymore. Any and everything that may have value rests ahead of him now, in a future that seems less and less certain by the day. Regardless, it’s an intense and deep feeling of spite that keeps him from just abandoning hope altogether these days. Spite for the home, the town and the life he once had. (Spite for the man who sired him.)

All of them tried to pull him down into a pit of despair that he’d unknowingly dug for himself. Yet, despite their best efforts, he’d crawled back out, even if he hadn’t emerged unscathed. They all wanted him to give up, to become the worthless wretch they’d all decided he was.

They already saw him as a heartless demon, his selfless nature forgotten and tossed by the wayside without a second thought.

They’d looked at him and saw nothing more than an object of entertainment and disdain, a temporary distraction from their own troubled lives. Nobody once cared to stop and wonder what would happen if one person, a very young one at that, was forced to shoulder the malice of an entire community. What would happen if that person was denied a place to belong, a bastion of safety where they could honestly believe nothing could hurt them.

The answer, as it turns out, is they’re left with nothing to lose.

Which is why Ren opens the mysterious door, his hand steady and his pulse even.

His palm tingles from the contact, the few seconds spent touching the handle enough to send a whole-body shiver rushing through him. Just like the spacious nature of the hallway, it isn’t inherently unpleasant, simply… alien to his senses.

The door silently swings open to reveal a small, nearly featureless room. It can’t be more than 20 or so square feet. With deep blue walls and flooring reminiscent of the hallway’s carpet. There is no visible light source, but the same azure glow continues to drench the space in an otherworldly pallor. In the middle of the otherwise empty room sits a strange man in an opulent, velvet armchair.

The seated man possesses all the features of a human male, but the proportions are all _off_ in some way. His black pupils just a bit too large, his hooked nose too long and his pale limbs far thinner than Ren’s brain is willing to accept is believable for a bona fide human. There’s a beat of silence while Ren takes in the sight of the unknown man he now shares the small room with, his mouth unsure of which question should be allowed passage to the outside air first.

The man, however, has no such qualms about whether he should let Ren initiate conversation. He merely smiles, showcasing pearly white teeth that gleam far too brightly in the room’s dim light.

“Welcome, dear Guest, to the Velvet Room.”

Ren’s brain grows fuzzy for a moment, the man’s somewhat high pitched words wrapped in the same otherworldly feeling as everything else he’s seen since leaving the dream’s recreation of his old home. Thankfully, the feeling passes as quickly as it arrived and the man’s next words bring no further odd sensations.

“This place exists between mind and matter, dreams and reality. It is a place that few are given permission to enter, yet all eventually leave.”

Ren has absolutely no clue what this man is talking about. Velvet Room? A place between everything? He can only shake his head and sigh, more convinced than ever before that he’s finally just snapped and gone insane. Odds are he’s raving about all of this to some white coat wearing attendant in the psychiatric ward of a Tokyo hospital in the waking world right now.

The man seems to pick up on Ren’s confusion, his next words spoken slower and with a far softer tone.

“I can understand that you may be somewhat concerned with your present circumstances, unusual as they are. However, there is one thing above all others that I wish to make clear. I do not, nor will I ever, wish you any ill will.”

The man’s eyes lock onto Ren’s, the younger boy suddenly unable to tear his gaze away. Something lurks behind those dark eyes, something ancient and large enough to eclipse the sun. It whispers in the same voice Ren heard before opening the Velvet Room’s door, its words melodic in the same way a frozen lake speaks of ice without needing words.

It asks Ren to trust this man.

(...Easier said than done.)

Reflexively, Ren puts forth arguably the most cliché question anyone could come up with in this kind of situation.

“...Am I dreaming?”

The instant the words escape Ren’s lips, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that none of this can be real. Not if he’s able to speak again.

Meanwhile, the man’s cheshire grin widens.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Although, as my description of this place implies, that does not change the fact that this is still very much real. With this in mind, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Igor, and I am the master of this place.”

Ren files that information away for safekeeping in the back of his mind. Next on the docket now that he knows a few of the ‘whats’ is to find out some of the ‘whys’. On the off chance he even remembers any of this after he wakes up, it’ll make for a halfway decent distraction to keep his mind from wandering to other things.

For the time being, however, the nagging weight of the social expectations Ren’s had etched into him by society pushes him to return Igor’s introduction. Because even though this is still just a dream, it doesn’t excuse him from being rude.

“My name is Ren Am-"

Ren catches himself, the practiced flow of syllables cut off by the memory of how they now longer belong to him.

"...My name is Ren Kurusu. It’s… nice to meet you, Igor.”

If Igor’s smile was wide before, it evolves into something positively gargantuan at Ren’s reciprocation. There’s even a fraction of a second where Ren could swear Igor’s lips somehow pull past the silhouette of his face, extending out into the open air in a way that defies all logic.

But then Ren blinks and everything is normal again.

“I’m sure you have a great many more questions you wish to ask of me, but I’m afraid that this is neither the time nor the place for such discussion.”

Igor sweeps his arms out wide, his gloved fingertips splayed as he gestures to the narrow confines of their shared locale.

“I have come to you, dear Guest, with a request for one such a you, one who Struggles Against Fate. A request that will have the potential to alter not only the course of your own destiny, but that of humanity as a whole.”

Ren can’t stop himself from looking more than a little skeptical. It’s one thing for a dream to try and convince him it’s real, and another for it to ask him to save the world. This all feels so textbook predictable that he just stops taking it seriously altogether. After all, it hasn’t devolved into a nightmare yet, so there shouldn’t be any harm in just playing along until he finally wakes up, right?

“Okay, what exactly is it that you want from me?”

Ren’s apparent willingness, no matter how fictitious it may be, makes Igor’s eyes light up.

“So, you are not opposed to the idea of cooperating?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything to lose by hearing you out, at the very least.”

There’s a creak from the chair as Igor shifts, his legs crossing themselves over one another.

“How very pragmatic of you.”

Igor snaps his fingers and the room’s walls fall away, revealing a sprawling, obsidian emptiness stretching out farther than Ren can hope to see in all directions. A cold wind blows across his skin, causing it to erupt in goosebumps. Thankfully, the floor remains in place so there’s no fear of falling down into the spontaneously summoned abyss.

“What you see surrounding you now is but a small fraction of a world that closely mirrors your own. Think of it as a place where dreams live, a realm that humans visit whilst they sleep.”

Igor casts his gaze around, finally taking his eyes of Ren for the first time since he’d first entered the room.

“It… did not always appear as the austere void you see before you. It once carried all of humanity's hopes, their dreams and their faith in one another. Those thoughts and feelings shaped it into a mishmash of different things, but all of them were equally beautiful in their own way.”

Suddenly, another sound joins the frigid wind's howling. Something akin to the roar of a feral beast made of bones and hate. A vague silhouette forms off in the distance behind Igor, a mass of squirming limbs and red lights swirling impossibly fast. It falls still the moment Ren looks its way, the lights all pulsing in time with his own heartbeat. And then, without warning, the shape lets out another howl that actually shakes Ren’s eyes in their sockets. It rushes towards them, the unknown distance between them seemingly meaningless as Ren’s whole body screams at him to **RUN**.

Igor swiftly snaps his fingers once more and the Velvet Room’s walls instantly reappear.

“Now, however, it has been invaded by something and is slowly rotting away from within. A fact that holds dire repercussions for the waking world. For if the world representing humans’ hopes and dreams succumbs to it, the humans that gave rise to them will soon follow.”

Ren’s fight or flight response is still dumping adrenaline into his veins and his breath is heavy. Igor patiently waits for Ren to calm down again, his eyes aching from the sight of the horrible shape still burned into them. Eventually, he’s able to speak again without feeling like he’ll puke from sheer terror.

“W-what do you mean? If humans created all of that, can’t they just do it again?”

Igor shakes his head.

“I’m afraid that it isn’t nearly that simple. For, as you yourself have seen, there is more going on than the mere disappearance of this world’s contents. The reality of the matter is that the one responsible is corrupting it, infecting everything so that any and all who come into contact with it are twisted beyond recognition. Their desires distorted to the point where they can only be considered monsters by those that still retain their senses.”

Ren gulps, his skin only now beginning to warm up again after being exposed to the harsh atmosphere of this ‘Otherworld’. He licks his lips, finding them suddenly bone dry.

“And it will not stop there. Eventually, if it isn’t halted, it will infect every single human and create a world populated by nothing except the very worst of what humanity can produce. A world, that I’m sure you can imagine, that would be doomed to destroy itself.”

There’s a beat of silence between them. Ren trying to wrap his mind around this veritable avalanche of information and Igor merely waiting for his guest to speak.

“The thing that’s doing all of this… What is it? Was it that… that THING we just saw?”

Igor sighs, his eyes closing momentarily.

“In order to answer that, I’m afraid I must ask you a question of my own. Do you believe God created humans?”

Ren’s expression instantly sours, pulse now roaring in his ears and hands involuntarily clenching into fists, his fear momentarily forgotten.

“...There is no God.”

Igor’s eyes snap back open, his dark pupils full of understanding and even a tinge of sympathy.

“Quite the resolute approach to an otherwise divisive subject. Yes, Gods, as humans see them, did not create humanity, nor do they exist. However, there are things that closely resemble them. Fragments of those same hopes and dreams that humanity once poured into this world. They bind to one another, growing over time in order to become that which their creators wished for them to be.”

Ren’s head spins at Igor’s waxing explanation. He’s followed the man's words up to a certain point, but now he’s not so sure where this talk is going anymore. Igor, however, continues unbidden.

“You see, dear Guest, humans were not created by Gods of any sort. Humans are the ones who have created Gods to believe in. And, it is one of these Gods, effectively a newborn one at that, that currently stands poised to consume everything.”

Ren shakes his head, trying in vain to reorient himself into something remotely resembling a sane person's mindset. When that fails, he merely opts to continue playing along and finding out as much as he can about this increasingly bizarre dream before he finally wakes up.

“...So, you’re trying to tell me that… the thing that’s basically swallowing up everyone’s dreams is something that humans made? Wait, but based on what you just said that would mean-”

Igor cuts him off with the flourish of a gloved hand.

“How very astute of you. Yes, it means that humanity as a whole has wished for such a God to be born.”

Ren can only shake his head and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“What, so everyone just wants to die all of a sudden? That’s ridiculous!”

“Surely you’ve seen your own share of ‘ridiculous’ things in your life thus far, have you not? Is it truly so hard to believe that humanity, in some way, shape or form desires an end such as this?”

Ren’s mouth opens, a retort balanced on the tip of his tongue. But then he remembers the last few days leading up to the departure from his hometown. The way nobody would even bother listening to him, to his side of the story. How no matter what he said or did, they’d all made up their minds and no amount of proof would dissuade them.

How he’d been terrified that he’d somehow become the last sane human on the entire face of the earth overnight.

Igor gives him a knowing expression, mouth refusing to twist into anything other than his absurdist grin.

“I can see that at least a piece of you is willing to accept the possibility.”

A ringing sound suddenly echoes throughout the Velvet Room, filling Ren’s head with a stabbing pain akin to a knife blooming inside his skull. Igor, on the other hand, is wholly unaffected by it. Or, perhaps, he can’t even hear it in the first place.

“My dear Guest, it would seem that this particular visit has come to an end.”

Ren struggles to respond, the ringing and his suffering only growing more and more intense with every passing second. All he manages to accomplish is falling forwards onto his knees, head cradled in his now sweat slicked hands. Igor makes no move to stand or assist Ren in any way, but his manic grin finally falls away to reveal something closer to a wistful smirk.

“Worry not, for we will meet again now that I have ascertained your willingness to assist me in the trials ahead. A word of warning, dear Guest. The next time we see each other will be after you’ve encountered your first piece of the waking world’s infection. And, this room itself will have changed to better suit you when that time comes.”

Ren can barely make out Igor’s words anymore. His eyes are screwed shut, his teeth grit and his very blood screaming out for relief from this incessant agony. It’s only when Igor’s next words finally fade away into silence that Ren’s consciousness blessedly follows.

“I wish you the best of luck, Struggler.”

Ren Kurusu opens his eyes to the sight of his bedroom in cafe Leblanc and the blaring of his phone’s alarm, and knows that he is finally awake.

［ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ： ＣＡＦＥ＿ＬＥＢＬＡＮＣ］

［ＴＩＭＥ： ０５２０］


	2. Sign of Infection

［ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ： ＴＨＥ＿ＳＣＨＯＯＬ＿ＲＯＯＦＴＯＰ］

［ＴＩＭＥ： １１１５］

In spite of Ren’s best efforts, he’s forgotten nearly everything about the Velvet Room by the time classes break for lunch the following day. All that remains now are vague, half-formed details. A snippet of an otherworldly blue, the silhouette of something pretending to be a man and… a faint, looming sense of dread. Several times throughout the day he's felt like he's been on the verge of remembering it all, but no matter how hard he tries to hold onto that feeling, it just slips through his fingertips. This infuriating gap in his memory has been gnawing away at him ever since he identified it for reasons he doesn't fully understand.

Regardless, he presses on with his life, wholly unaware as fate’s insidious machinations draw ever tighter around his unsuspecting neck.

With a muted sigh, Ren pushes open the door to Shujin Academy’s roof and steps out of the dimly lit stairwell, blinking at the sudden rush of noon sunshine. He’s been coming here to eat for the past month after discovering, purely by accident, that the door itself isn’t locked despite being labeled as such. It’s quite the godsend, since Shujin’s hustle and bustle has proved far too grating on his already frayed nerves. It really doesn’t help that every single student feels the need to ask the same exact questions every single time they discover that he is, in fact, the new transfer student everyone’s talking about.

‘ _ **Where are you from?’**_

‘ _ **Why did you move out here?’**_

‘ _ **What do you mean you can’t talk?’**_

‘ _ **How did that happen?’**_

‘ _ **When did you get those scars?’**_

So, in an effort to keep himself somewhat sane and dodge the maddeningly repetitive barrage of questions, Ren’s simply opted to isolate himself from the swarms of his peers whenever possible. Hence why he’s equally grateful for the fact that nobody else has yet to discover him in his temporary, rooftop sanctuary. A boon he’s sure will vanish sooner or later, purely based on the obvious bits of evidence scattered around that points to at least one other person using this space in the form of planters, bags of soil, random gardening tools and supplies.

Regardless of how long it’ll last, Ren chooses not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth and instead just settles into one of the folding chairs left behind by the unknown rooftop gardener. A gentle breeze washes over him as he pulls out his lunchbox, the sunlight sparkling on its black, lacquer finish like a coat of liquid obsidian. He genuinely hadn’t expected his current guardian to go out of their way with small stuff like this, but Ren is secretly moved beyond words that they’ve taken the time to make him lunch every day since he moved to Tokyo.

...Even if it’s just some kind of curry, nine times out of ten.

However, to Ren’s surprise, today he opens his lunchbox to the sight of a grilled chicken sandwich with cheese and a set of vegetable fried rice on the side; a far cry from the standard helping of Leblanc’s famous curry. There’s also a sticky note taped to the underside of the box’s lid, bearing a short message in Sojiro Sakura’s usual, looping cursive scrawl.

_**[ʀɛɳ,** _

_**ɠɨɡʉʀɛɗ ʏɵʉ ɱɨɡɦʈ ɯɑɳʈ ɑ ɓɨʈ ɵɠ ʋɑɼɨɛʈʏ ɛʋɛɼʏ ɳɵɯ ɑɳɖ ʈɧɛɳ.** _

_**Ɗɵɳ’ʈ ʂƙɨɱƥ ɵʉʈ ɵɳ ɛɑʈɨɳɡ ʈɧɛ ʋɛɡɛʈɑɓɭɛʂ ʈɧɵʉɡɧ, ʏɵʉ’ɼɛ ʂʈɨɭɭ ɡɼɵɯɨɳɡ.** _

_**-ʂɵʝɨɼɵ]** _

A small smile stretches across Ren’s face by the time he finishes reading the note. It’s a small act of kindness in the grand scheme of things, sure, but… There’s a sincerity to it that he’s come close to giving up on experiencing again, especially after everything that’s happened. He can practically picture Sojiro packing up another set of Lebanc curry, only to realize how many times Ren’s eaten it up until now and feverishly whipping up something different in the hopes of making sure his ward’s meal is still enjoyable.

...Most likely after going shopping for ingredients first because Ren’s never **once** seen chicken breast or cheese inside the cafe’s fridge since he took up residence there.

With a mental reminder to thank Sojiro for it when he gets back, Ren tucks into his meal while soaking in the midday sun. It’s altogether wonderful in a way he’s not sure the average person could fully appreciate. There’s no noise beyond the dull hum of the rooftop’s exhaust vents. No people to hound him about things he’d rather not think about again. No reminders of the things he’s been forced to give up on. Nothing, except some delicious food made by someone who, for reasons that still elude him, cares about him and the warmth of a pleasant day.

Once he’s done wolfing down the hearty sandwich and flavorful rice, Ren’s body falls prey to the typical post-meal exhaustion. His limbs grow heavy, but warm and his eyelids are quick to follow their example.

Maybe he can just rest his eyes for a few minutes. After all, he reasons, he hadn’t exactly slept great last night...

Just… for a bit…

［ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ： ＴＨＥ＿ＳＣＨＯＯＬ＿ＲＯＯＦＴＯＰ？］

［ＴＩＭＥ： １２１５？］

Ren’s heart nearly stops when the bell signaling the end of lunch abruptly rings, rousing him from the catnap he hadn’t even noticed slipping into.

Not one to push the boundaries of what he can get away with after all Shujin’s already done to help him after his abrupt move, Ren opts to get back to class as soon as possible. A careful sweep of the roof ensures he hasn’t left behind any proof he’s been there, save for a small dusting of bread crumbs he has no real way of dealing with. Figuring that the wind will do a good enough job of scattering them before anyone can see, Ren shrugs before making his way back through the rooftop door.

As he steps through the dim threshold, he’s assaulted by the bizarre sensation of wading through an unnaturally thick spiderweb. The air itself pushes back against him, almost as if trying to deny him further entry. It’s over as soon as his feet touch the top of the stairwell’s poorly lit landing, his hands brushing over his body in search of remnants from the supposed webs he’d just shoved his way through. Ren’s hands somehow come away from his uniform clean, leaving him to wonder if he’d just imagined it all. A quick glance back towards the door reveals nothing out of the ordinary, although the flickering stairwell lighting makes it a little hard to say for sure.

(...Wait, where did the locked door sign go?)

Had it actually been there when he went up earlier? Or has he just gotten so used to seeing it there that he just imagined it being there today?

A quick shake of his head dispels the half-formed doubts. His time is better spent getting back to class instead of dwelling on whether a door really had a sign on it earlier or not. It’s not like there isn’t a plethora of explanations to fall back on, if he took the time to sit down and sift through them all. The most likely one simply being that he hadn’t noticed the sign already having been taken down.

Putting the question of the door's sign aside, Ren makes his way down the stairs and onto the third year’s floor. It’s oddly quiet, the normal sounds of students rushing around post lunchtime curiously absent. He hasn’t passed by anyone else on the stairs either, which is equally unusual. Chalking it up to simply being late after standing around longer than he’d thought during the whole ‘ghost spiderweb/vanishing sign’ situation, Ren hurries towards his assigned classroom at a half jog.

Finally, he’s standing in front of Ms. Kawakami’s classroom, but there’s still an unsettling absence of noise. When he puts out his hand to pull open the door he’s struck by a sudden chill, skin erupting in goosebumps and pulse unexpectedly skyrocketing. The feeling briefly evokes a startling sense of déja vu, but he has no idea why. The impulsive urge to check behind him overpowers his fear of being late for a moment, reptilian instincts screaming out that he’s being watched by **ṨṐḾḘṌṆḜ**.

However, when he whirls around to the sight of a still vacant hallway, Ren wonders if his inability to get a good night’s sleep lately is causing him to hallucinate.

He’s acutely aware that only being able to sleep for a few solid hours at a time for nearly two months is terrible for the body and mind, but it’s not like he can DO much about it. It was either get a prescription for painkillers or sleeping pills since his financial situation didn’t exactly allow for him to get both. The lesser of the two evils ended up being the loss of sleep, but in exchange he’s not crippled by searing agony tearing a hole in his chest whenever he has to bathe and/or change out his gauze.

The rush of relatively normal thoughts takes Ren’s mind off the strange chill and lets him slide open the classroom door, only to find it completely empty. Each desk is exactly how he remembers seeing them last, save for a curious lack of textbooks, writing implements and bags at any of them. Even if he somehow missed out on a change in the schedule for today there should still be **some** proof that people have been in here today.

Ren inspects the front of the room, scanning the chalkboard for any hint as to why he’s the only one present. Maybe there’s some kind of emergency assembly going on that he missed the announcement for? It’s entirely possible, especially considering the fact he’s 99% sure he slept through homeroom this morning.

Ren’s eyes soon grow wide at the sight of a single sentence seemingly carved into the chalkboard with some kind of sharp object. It stands out against the onyx backdrop in a color that makes absolutely zero sense. He’s seen scratched up chalkboards before, even contributed to them once or twice in the past, and the scratches were always some shade of white.

But these marks are a dark, blighted crimson, the color slowly dripping down the wall as if the infrastructure itself is bleeding out from a wound. Ren shivers at the analogy, having recently developed a strong aversion to the sight of blood. However, he steels himself against the unpleasant imagery and studies the enigmatic message more closely. Each individual stroke of the letters is a cruel line and combined they weave a tapestry of cruelty that leaves him doubting the one responsible was in their right mind when creating them. That, coupled with the bizarre liquid seeping out from the letters themselves, makes it difficult to piece the meaning together, but he somehow manages.

**G̶̨̩̰̩̹͇͉̭͍̈̎̐̿̏͗̊̉̀Ŭ̷̪͎̞͎̞̌̿͊̂̏Ǐ̶̳̦̼̹̐͝͝Ĺ̶̹́̃̐̏̚͝ͅT̷͔̬̺̊̿͒͑̕̕͜͠͝Y̶̢̧̛̯͉̦͈͇̎̏̏͊ͅͅ ̷̭̼̣̲̝̩͉͊̓͛̕͝T̴̨̍̐̿̎̒͌̕R̷̛̰̼͗̽̓̚͝Ạ̵̜͎̙̒S̶̠̓̇͗̐͋̀͆͜H̸̥̿͛̈́̇̚ ̴̭́̌̚͘͝͝Ẃ̴͓Į̴͈̱̰̩͑͝͝L̶̟̓̒̉̃̑̐̉̈͜L̷̠̼̥̄͐͒́̏̊͒ ̵̡̛͍͙̆̌̍̕B̷͉͍̝́̄̊͌͂̃̚̕͠Ȅ̷͇̟̭̉̄̌̉̚͝͝ ̴̛̳̻͖͕͍̹͎́̍̓͐̉̆͜͠B̵̳̞̱̘̑̽̈́͘U̸͉̭͉͓̞̙̺̺̚͜R̸͍͖͓̺̟̩͊͜N̵̨̡̗͈̝̲̍͋̀̓͗E̸̹̹͙̍̆͆̄D̷̯͖̯͔͎̱͑͐͗̿̎̇͜͝ͅ ̶̧̹̑̈́͐̔̎͑͘͘͜T̷̨̡̹͈̻̪̱̭̯̾̽͊͆̆̆̅̋Ȍ̸̳̯̘̝̰͚̜̱̎̈́͗͐N̸̺̜̼͌̔̿͠͝Į̷̧̢͉̞͙͗̔̆̅̇̏͜͠͝G̷͍͑̈̈́̐́H̸̡̗͖̼͐T̶̡͓͔̥͔̻͒̊̒̃͒̓̉͘͝**

What the hell is going on here…?

［ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ： ＴＨＥ＿ＣＨＡＲＩＯＴ｀Ｓ＿ＤＲＥＡＭ］

［ＴＩＭＥ： ＦＩＲＳＴ＿ＴＲＩＭＥＳＴＥＲ］


	3. Obsidian Roar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone that's interested, here's an Opening Theme for this story: (https://youtu.be/C-UAzeqvrew)
> 
> And an Ending Theme as well: (https://youtu.be/6vmjX3mWKRU)

Ren takes a step back from the blackboard, his body instinctively putting as much space between himself and the psychotically scrawled letters as possible.

The sight of them wrenches up fistfuls of sickening memories from a time when only words and blood defined him. A time when he’d all but given up on doing anything except choke on his own mistakes. A time when he’d been sure he would die.

Bile rises up from the depths of his throat, hot and heavy. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here RIGHT NOW.

It doesn’t matter that he still doesn’t know where the rest of the student body have gone, Ren turns on his heel and makes a beeline for the door. He’ll worry about that after he stops hyperventilating and tasting vomit on the back of his tongue.

However, after only taking a few shaky steps towards the classroom’s door, the sound of someone whispering somewhere behind him brings his body to a full stop. Hushed syllables fall around the edges of his awareness like drops of summer rain, just loud enough to be heard but not understood.

...Has someone actually been in the room with him this whole time?

Ren’s adrenaline spikes in response to that thought, even though he has yet to encounter anything remotely close to malice from anyone on school grounds. Being afraid of a classmate or a teacher feels incredibly silly from a logical standpoint, but his stomach won’t stop anxiously churning regardless.

Surely, his brain bravely supplies, this will turn out to be nothing more than a practical joke. A classmate or two will reveal themselves from some obscure hiding spot and give him no shortage of playful grief over being so easily fooled by a nonsensical message on a school blackboard.

Resolving to not let his fear get the better of him and to prove a point to his exhaustion riddled brain that everything is fine, Ren turns back towards the source of the whispering.

At first he doesn’t see anything new. The room still looks totally vacant, save for his own presence. He skims over the corners of the room in a desperate attempt to locate where the whispers could possibly be coming from. When just looking fails to turn up results, he opts to investigate more closely.

Walking around nearly the whole perimeter of the classroom yields little until Ren finally locates the origin of the whispers in the admittedly most obvious of places. The PA speakers currently buzz with unintelligible murmuring that he’d simply mistaken for the voice of a flesh and blood person. Upon making this discovery, he feels something akin to relief at the revelation that there is, in fact, no mystery person hiding and silently observing him.

A foolish rush of curiosity overwhelms the prior fear. Ren can’t help but want to know what’s being said on the public announcement system. Partially because it could have something to do with his bizarre situation, but mainly because overcoming the earlier rush of fear has left him emboldened and momentarily brave.

Ren cranes his neck to try and pick up anything resembling human dialogue from the speakers, but even standing directly underneath isn’t enough; the whispers just remain a jumbled mess of soft noise. Getting on his tiptoes still leaves the speakers outside of arms’ reach, but he should at least be able to hear a bit more clearly now.

Ren closes his eyes and strains his ears to glean the meaning of the odd whispers. He’s close now, so close to picking out the meaning from this bizarre noise. Scraps of something bordering on meaning threaten to break away from the confusing mishmash of voices. It’s like an entire subway full of people all managed to get within inches of the same microphone.

If he could only get a little closer…

Suddenly, a piercing screech issues out of the speakers with the impact of an unexpected gunshot. The destructive burst of mangled sound crashes against Ren’s ears, forcing his hands to fly up and cover them in a late attempt at preventing any permanent damage to his hearing. He reels back, somehow managing to stay on his feet.

**《ⒶⓃⓄⓉⒽⒺⓇ ⒹⒶⓎ ⓌⓄⓊⓁⒹ ⒹⒾⒺ ⒻⓄⓇ ⓈⓉⓊⓅⒾⒹⒾⓉⓎ！》**

The phrase blasting out of the speakers throttles the very marrow where it sits in Ren’s bones almost as if the vibrations splitting the air are the fingers of a madman hellbent on strangling the life from his insides.

Ren staggers in place, his cerebrum doing its best to not shatter into a million pieces, as a black fluid begins oozing out from the speakers’ mesh. It rapidly fills the room with an atrocious stench, something resembling a mixture of rotten meat and clinical disinfectant. Faster and faster, the vile flow grows more potent as even more nonsensical words pour out of the corrupted sound system.

**《** **ⓃⓄⓉⒽⒾⓃⒼⓃⒺⓈⓈ ⓌⒶⓃⓉⓈ ⓉⓄ ⒼⓄ ⓉⓄ ⒽⒺⓁⓁ** **！** **》**

The shrill feedback remains throughout it all, somehow growing ever louder as it warbles and changes pitch like a starved animal caught in a cruel hunter’s trap. Ren can swear his hands are now slick with blood, his brain surely hemorrhaging from the pulsing cacophony still reverberating within his skull.

Ren resumes his attempt to exit the classroom, drunkenly staggering towards where he vaguely remembers the door being. What was once merely an attempt to avoid emotional pain has now evolved into a desperate escape from a very real, very physical agony. As he makes tortuously slow progress in his journey of less than 10 feet, his legs start feeling unnaturally warm. The heat isn’t static either, it’s crawling further and further up his legs as if he’s sinking into a pit of scalding desert sand.

**《** **ⓃⒾⒽⒾⓁⒾⓈⓂ ⓉⒺⓃⒹⒺⓇⓁⓎ** **ⓈⒺⒺⓈ ⓉⓄ ⒽⒺⓇ ⒸⒽⒾⓁⒹ** **！** **》**

Ren squints through the haze of all-encompassing anguish, trying to identify the source of the floor’s sudden rise in temperature. His eyes widen in shock to find that the black fluid flowing out from the speakers has now filled the room to the point where it’s ankle deep.

And it doesn’t appear to be stopping anytime soon.

**《** **Ⓐ ⓈⓄⓊⓃⒹ ⓎⓄⓊ ⒽⒺⒶⓇⒹ** **ⓌⒶⓃⓉⓈ ⓉⓄ ⓈⒺⓉ ⓉⒽⒾⓃⒼⓈ** **ⓇⒾⒼⒽⓉ** **！** **》**

Ren finally makes it to the door, how exactly he’s not sure, but he’ll worry about the details once he’s gotten out of this nightmarish hellhole. He removes one hand from his battered ears to open the door, wincing as the speakers’ uninterrupted screaming only seems to grow in strength. Gritting his teeth the best he can, he heaves open the door and throws himself through the threshold onto the other side.

The moment his body passes through to the doorway the speakers fall eerily silent. Not even an echo remains while Ren lays on the hallway floor, his breath coming out in panicked gasps. His heart pounds in his still ringing ears, but he urges his body to move, to put distance between himself and the black fluid that must surely be creeping towards him from the classroom’s now open door.

With an internal groan, Ren manages to roll himself onto his hands and knees and, rather ungracefully, crawls to the opposite side of the hallway. Leaning his back against cool plaster, he regards the object of his terror with continually mounting confusion and dread.

The classroom door is still open, but there’s no sound coming from inside and there’s not even a trace of the black slime having wormed its way into the hall. The small bit of the room’s interior visible from his spot on the floor looks absolutely normal. Not even a drop of obsidian sludge in sight.

Ren can only blink, his brain long past the point of making sense of anything he’s seen in the past ten or so minutes. The obvious answer is that he’s gone insane. Maybe from a lack of sleep, maybe from the stress or maybe from the guilt of it all. He’s honestly been waiting for the negative side effects of everything to finally rear their ugly heads sooner or later.

Regardless of the cause though, the end result being a lost connection to the real world is far from ideal.

That morbid thought triggers a faint recollection of a place where he’d had the same exact worry. Somewhere blue and-?

...No good. The memory or whatever it was dances out of his mind’s grasp as quickly as it came.

Ren lets out a breath he may have very well been holding ever since the speakers tried to murder him. What in the world is he supposed to do now? Just sit around and wait for someone to find him drooling on himself or whatever other deranged thing he could be doing in reality right now?

...Hopefully he still has his clothes on, at least.

Wincing at that awful prospect, Ren considers his next course of action. Even if he truly has lost his marbles, it doesn’t feel right just sitting around here doing nothing. At the very least, he’d like to find some kind of figment of his imagination and… Well, do something as opposed to nothing. Maybe he’ll put it in a headlock and try to pull off Gray Pidgeon’s famous pile-driver or something as a sort of final ‘fuck you’ to this whole going insane business.

As the mental image of driving some weird manifestation of his inner madness into the ground brings an uneasy smile to his face, Ren notices movement out of the corner of his eye. There’s another person in a male Shujin uniform standing at the end of the hallway by the door to the practice building.

Ren establishes eye contact without thinking, his gray orbs now locked onto a pair of eyes so dark brown they’re practically black. Their owner’s fluffy hair is a similar color and they have quite possibly the most well defined chin Ren’s ever seen on someone around his own age.

The stranger stares at Ren in silence for several seconds without moving, neither person daring to take so much as a single breath. For Ren’s part it’s not as if he could give a verbal greeting, even if he wasn’t wary of the potential embodiment of his now lost sanity.

The staring contest continues uninterrupted long enough that Ren’s lungs start burning with the need for fresh oxygen. He reflexively takes in a long draw of air, but accidentally swallows a bit of his own saliva in the process. Hacking coughs soon break the silence while Ren tries in vain to clear his airway, his cheeks burning red in automatic embarrassment.

“...Are you okay?”

The newcomer’s voice immediately pulls Ren’s focus away from his self-inflicted choking. It’s low and smooth, the image of hot chocolate being poured into a stone mug jumping to the forefront of his mind. Looking up reveals that the other student made their way over to Ren’s side during his coughing fit. Now that they’re within arm’s reach, Ren can tell the other boy is incredibly tall, probably bordering on something close to 6’ 3”.

Ren waves a hand in front of his body, giving the universal sign for ‘don’t worry about it’. The boy seems to get the idea and visibly relaxes a few notches. He takes on a somewhat hesitant expression for a moment, but then shakes his head and extends an arm out to Ren.

“Need a hand?”

Not one to turn down help, all things considered, Ren grabs onto the offered limb and only gets a moment’s pause before being hauled onto his feet with hardly any effort on the other boy’s part. Ren stumbles a bit from the abrupt change in position, not expecting his companion to lift him up like he weighed next to nothing.

“Sorry, I guess you’re, uh, a little lighter than you look...?”

The boy wears a sheepish smile, one hand going up to scratch the back of his head.

When Ren gives him a thumbs up in response to the apology, it seems to be more than sufficient for the ice to now be officially broken. The other boy chuckles, his hands drifting to his hips as he looks Ren over head to toe.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” His eyes drift over to Ren’s collar before growing wide with mild surprise, his rich, chocolate voice taking on a more formal tone at the sight.

“Oh! You’re a third year! I didn’t even realize I was talking to my senpai.”

Ren wants to tell him not to worry about social formalities, but he’s still getting used to being mute and isn’t sure how to accurately convey such complex ideas without a pen and paper on hand. He’s about to just pull out his cellphone and open up the text to speech application when his self-proclaimed kohai lowers his head in a stiff bow.

“Since this is our first meeting, please allow me to introduce myself! I’m a second year here at Shujin Academy and a member of the volleyball team. My name is Suguru Kamoshida, please treat me well.”

When Kamoshida glances up to gauge his senpai’s reaction to his introduction, Ren could swear that, for just a brief moment, the younger boy's dark eyes flashed a piercing yellow.


	4. While He Could Still Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, this chapter contains scenes involving someone trying to escape an abusive household. If that sort of thing is difficult for you to read, then there will be a brief summary in the end notes of the chapter.

  
  


_The ringing of a_ _cordless,_ _landline phone cuts through the otherwise silent interior of a modest Tokyo home._

  
  


_It takes nearly four rings before the owner of the house manages to rub the sleep from his eyes and answer it. To say that he’s displeased by being woken up at 3 in the morning_ _(_ _on a Tuesday of all things!_ _)_ _would be quite the understatement._

_“Do you have any idea what time it is?”_

  
  


_The mysterious, late-night caller sucks in a nervous breath and says nothing for a few moments. The tired home-owner is about ready to_ _just_ _hang up when a faint, unsure voice finally snakes through the receiver._

_“Is… Is_ _this Sojiro Sakura?”_

  
  


_The first thing_ _the home-owner_ _does upon hearing his name is narrow his eyes. He’_ _d_ _grown somewhat accustomed to getting calls from people at odd hours of the day and night, but those days_ _are_ _long gone now that the reason for them has_ _vanished_ _. An old, nearly abandoned well of anger opens up again at the thought of those_ _times_ _returning and_ _bringing with them_ _the same parasites that so eagerly tried to bleed his family dry._

_“Who the_ _…? How the hell did you get this number!?”_

_Sojiro’s voice_ _is laced with equal parts confusion, irritation and exhaustion. He’ll come to regret it later, but his initial tone does damage that, despite being repaired later on, comes dangerously close to condemning a child to death._

_“… … …”_

_The mystery caller_ _hesitates. The awkward silence only serves to further incite Sojiro’s seemingly justifiable outrage. He’s not the same person he was back then. The old Sojiro wouldn’t think of saying what comes next, but he hasn’t been_ _t_ _he old Sojiro_ _for_ _almost_ _10_ _years._

_“If this is some sort of prank call then you’ve got pretty rotten luck. My daughter happens to be quite capable when it comes to technology and she_ _can tell me_ _exactly who this is and where you’re calling from before you can so much as blink.”_

_Sojiro’s voice is tinged with a faint touch of warm pride as he effectively brags about_ _his_ _genius_ _daughter. In fact, his agitation_ _actually_ _loses_ _some of_ _its edge as the satisfaction_ _of realizing_ _just how far he and his daughter have_ _truly_ _come surges to the forefront of his mind._

  
  


_It almost makes him want to retract his earlier threat, but he hasn’t let himself go that soft yet._

_“Well? If you’re not going to at least have the decency to apologize, then-“_

_The mystery caller’s next words come out as nothing more than a strained, terrified whisper._

_“…_ _Please, I-I’m so scared.”_

_There’s genuine fear in the voice filling Sojiro’s ear. It brings back memories of the day he’d finally wre_ _n_ _ched his daughter away from the abusive piece of shit responsible for nearly killing her through purposeful neglect. He dimly notes that the voice, while somewhat distorted and quiet, sounds suspiciously young._

  
  


_Much younger than he initially thought._

  
  


_The realization_ _makes the last embers of his frustration flicker and_ _then_ _go out altogether. They’re quickly replaced by icy-cold fingertips of dread, even though he could_ _simply_ _be misreading things and overreacting to nothing._

  
  


_Even so, he feels obligated to at least find out for sure._

_“...Who is this, really?”_

_The caller audibly_ _swallows. They try to answer, but a half-choked out sob forces them to stop._

_“My_ _-”_

_They_ _stutter, trying desperately to keep their voice steady_ _long enough to get out a coherent sentence. Sojiro can practically see them huddled in the dark somewhere, hands and body_ _both_ _shaking_ _uncontrollably_ _._

_“My name... is Ren Amamiya and my mother told me about you. She said-“_

_There’s a hiss of air on the other end of the call as Ren takes another labored breath._

_“She said that if I- If I ever got into trouble, that I should… I should_ _call Sojiro Sakura. She… she left me your phone n-number after she died...”_

  
  


_The name stirs up a hazy recollection of something that Sojiro just can’t quite place. It’s just far enough out of reach that his mind needs the tiniest bit of help to grasp it. So, he takes a chance and asks one, life changing question._

  
  


_“_ _What was your mother’s full name before she got married?”_

  
  


_The caller’s next words wind up being the linchpin for enough future events to completely change the entire world._

  
  


_“..._ _Fumi Kurusu.”_

_Sojiro can only stand in_ _shocked silence as the rush of memories sparked from hearing_ _her_ _name threatens to overwhelm him. Memories of a promise spawned from a debt he’d been utterly convinced he would never come close to repaying._

  
  


_But j_ _ust how many years ha_ _d_ _it been since he last heard anything from her? And now her son_ _of all people_ _was calling after she’d_ _**died** _ _?_

  
  


_Just what in the hell happened after she’d left Tokyo...?_

  
  


_Unsure as to what Sojiro’s silence means, Ren stumbles onward_ _as more words pour out now that the metaphorical dam has broken._

_“She said you would help if I didn’t h-have anywhere else to- to go. Please, I don’t know what to do and I’m all alone here and_ _nobody will listen, not even the police_ _and I’m_ _-I’m_ _just so scared-!“_

_Ren’s growing less and less coherent by the second. He’s practically whisper-screaming_ _now, on the_ _verge_ _of hyperventilati_ _ng_ _._

  
  


_Sojiro decides then and there that, even if this kid ends up being the biggest pain in the ass imaginable, he’ll do whatever he can to help. Promise_ _to Ren’s mother_ _or not, he knows all too well_ _what_ _c_ _an_ _happen to those turned away by their last_ _bastion of_ _hope._

_“Okay, kid, slow down._ _I need you to t_ _ake a deep breath and hold it for three seconds.”_

_Sojiro’s words are firm, but kind. They freeze Ren’s bubbling anxiety in its tracks and let him do just as the older man says. S_ _oon, s_ _ilence permeates the air once more._

_“Good. Now, exhale and count to five.”_

_Ren follows_ _the next set of_ _instruction_ _without complaint. Sojiro_ _then proceeds to_ _talk him through a dozen similar breaths, making sure to keep his tone as gentle as_ _possible_ _until Ren’_ _s_ _breathing_ _is_ _back under control._

_“Kid- You,_ _uh,_ _said your name was Ren?”_

_“Y-yeah.”_

_“Where are you right now?”_

_Ren’s mouth starts forming the word ‘home’, but he can’t bring himself to use that word. Not anymore. So, he just rattles off his current_ _address instead._

  
  


_Sojiro can’t help but put an exasperated hand to his face at the information._ _He then scrambles to grab a pen and notepad from his bedside table, hastily scribbling down the address as legibly as he can._

_“_ _Damn_ _, that’s at least three hours away from Tokyo. Talk about living out in the sticks…”_

_Th_ _is news_ _means Sojiro can’t really afford to waste any time, especially if Ren is legitimately in some sort of_ _immediate_ _danger. He power-walks down the halls of his small house on a crash course for his daughter’s room. She’s going to kick up a fuss_ _for_ _being disturbed at such an odd hour, but he knows she’ll understand once he explains the situation._

  
  


_And speaking of danger..._

_“Are you safe where you are right now?”_

_“… … …”_

_The answer is obvious and oh so simple, but it’s as if the word has grown spikes and catches in Ren’s throat. He doesn’t know when, but at some point during the call he’_ _s_ _started crying, hot tears now streaking down his cheeks._

  
  


_Sojiro can only do his best to assuage the boy’s fears with words of reassurance, as hollow as they might feel for the time being._

_“Ren, it’s okay. Your mother was telling you the truth. If you need help, then I’ll do whatever I can. But I need you to at least tell me what’s going on. Is the place you’re at right now safe?”_

  
  


_A brief rustling on the other end precedes Ren’s answer._

_“…No. I-I think my dad might act-actually try to... kill me next time. He, um, he got drunk and pa-passed out_ _earlier_ _bu_ _-bu_ _t I don’t know when he’ll wake up.”_

_Sojiro curses under his breath at Ren’s answer. There’s no way tonight’_ _s going to end_ _without_ _him getting_ _at least five speeding tickets, but to hell with it. It’s not like he_ _had_ _an immaculate driving record_ _in the first place_ _._

_“Okay, here’s what I need you to do. Get a bag together like a backpack or a suitcase if you have one. Fill it with enough stuff for a day or two and focus on the essentials. Clothes, your birth certificate and social security card if you can get them safely_ _and_ _any money you’ve got.”_

_Ren nods, despite knowing full well that Sojiro can’t see him through the phone._

_“Do you have a cellphone?”_

_“N-no, my dad he… It’s…_ _um,_ _broken now.”_

_Another curse, only this time it’s significantly less under_ _Sojiro’s_ _breath. The squeak of a door opening follows before the sound of a new voice abruptly cuts in._

_“Dad_ _-!_ _I told you these are Real Gamer Hours_ _™ and that I must NOT be disturbed until_ _-!”_

_Sojiro’s next words are barely audible_ _to Ren_ _,_ _mainly_ _due to_ _the older man_ _placing_ _his palm over the phone’s receiver to dull the roar of_ _his daughter_ _’s shouting._

_“Futaba, keep your voice down! I need you to find an internet café or a 24 hour_ _**anything** _ _that’s within an hour walking distance from_ _**this** _ _,”_ _He hands over the notepad, making sure to shake it once for emphasis, “_ _address and then the fastest way for me to get there by car.”_

_Futaba just_ _gawks_ _up at him with her mouth open, still hunched over her keyboard like a redheaded goblin. She recovers after a few moments,_ _scanning the address before_ _pushing her glasses back up_ _the bridge of her_ _nose in the process._

  
  


_“Th_ _is is,_ _like, three hours away from here if you follow the posted speed limits! Don’t tell me you’re planning to race over there like a demon on wheels_ _**tonight** _ _or something!”_

  
  


_Sojiro keeps his hand_ _clenched_ _over the_ _phone’s_ _receiver, desperately hoping that all of Futaba’s yelling doesn’t somehow wake up Ren’s father. He gives his daughter a pointed look and does his best to stress the importance of things without wasting unnecessary time._

  
  


_“Yes, **tonight**! We’ve got a Youji situation and we have to act _ _**fast** _ _.”_

_At the mere mention of that foul man’s name_ _, Futaba’s eyes glint with something dark and determined. She_ _immediately_ _spins back around to_ _face_ _her computer and begins furiously typing._ _It only takes her a minute and a half to finish her task._

  
  


_“Okay, I_ _just_ _sent you a text with the location of a 24 hour internet café about an hour and a half_ _walk_ _from the address you gave me. I’ll have the fastest_ _driving_ _route uploaded to the GPS app on your phone_ _in a second_ _.”_

  
  


_Futaba continues typing up a storm, pulling up several darkened windows with digital waterfalls_ _of alphanumeric code pouring down them without apparent rhyme or reason_ _._

  
  


_“I’m going to track your progress and_ _temporarily_ _disable any speed traps,_ _security cameras_ _and traffic lights as you near them. Plus, I’ll keep an eye out for patrol cars and give you a heads up if they’re gonna cross your path.”_

  
  


_Sojiro wants to berate his daughter for casually talking about hacking into government systems for what feels like the thousandth time, but tonight he’s willing to let it slide. Both he and Ren can use all the help they can get, even if there might be a sizable build up of bad karma_ _later_ _because of it._

  
  


_Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound…_

  
  


_Sojiro hurries back to his room and fumbles with his_ _cell_ _phone for a moment before_ _trying to pull_ _up Futaba’s message._ _He’s in the middle of roughly grabbing something resembling proper outerwear when he finally finds it._

_“Ren, you still there?”_

_Ren comes close to jumping_ _c_ _lean out of his skin when Sojiro address him_ _again_ _._

_“Y-yes!”_

_“I have an address I need you to go to after you’re done packing. Are you good with directions?”_

_Ren still sounds close to a full blown panic attack, but he’s at least keeping his breathing steady now._

_“Yeah, I-I’m pretty good with them.”_

_Sojiro lets out a_ _relieved sigh into the phone, causing_ _a brief crackle of_ _static_ _._

_“Good, I was worried since most of the younger generation rely so much on their phones… Regardless, I’m going to read off the address now; do you have something to write this down?”_

_The sound of frantic rustling briefly fills the line before Ren speaks next._

_“R_ _-ready when you are.”_

_“Okay, so it’s…”_

_Ren furiously scribbles down each letter and number with as much precision as he can afford, given that he’s on an invisible timer that could go off at any moment. He double and then triple checks it to make sure he hasn’t made any foolish mistakes before reading it back to Sojiro, who hums and affirms that he’s gotten it perfect._

  
  


_“_ _One last thing.”_

  
  


_Ren’s heart nearly stops, his anxious mind throwing up a barrage of worst case scenarios of what Sojiro will say next. Thoughts of being asked to compensate him somehow or perhaps being told that it was all a sick joke from the start, flood his brain until his throat clenches shut._

  
  


_“_ _What do you look like? I’d rather not have to draw any extra attention by asking everyone at the cafe for their name.”_

  
  


_Ren’s next breath is a half-choked laugh that feels so incredibly out of place in his current position that he almost breaks down into fully-fledged, insane giggling. Was_ _**this** _ _was hope felt like after being so non-existent for so long?_

  
  


_“_ _I’m, um, I have da-dark, frizzy hair and… and gray eyes.”_

  
  


_Ren’s description brings up yet another memory that previously felt all but lost._

  
  


_Warm days spent laughing at things he can no longer recall and rain drenched nights crying about things he’s forgotten the names of._

  
  


_“Huh…_ _You must look just like her...”_

  
  


_A glance at his alarm clock reveals the time is now 3:19 AM. Sojiro can already feel a sleep deprivation induced migraine coming on, but he pulls on the last of his clothes and is already at the front door with car keys in hand before he can dwell on it any further._

  
  


_The phone is still cradled against the side of his head, but he can’t take it any further than here. In a way, it’s Ren’s only lifeline right now. It’s his anchor in the terrifying abyss that he’s found himself in and Sojiro_ _**hates** _ _that he has to sever it in order to pull the kid out altogether._

  
  


_Part of that guilt ends up being taken away with the_ _internal_ _reminder that Ren needs to pack up and leave that house as soon as he can, which will mean abandoning the phone call regardless._ _Still doesn’t make hanging up any easier on his conscience though._

  
  


_“Ren, I’m about to leave the house to come get you. Are you-” The question leaving Sojiro’s lips feels so rhetorical in hindsight, but he asks it all the same. “Are you going to be alright?”_

  
  


_There’s some more light rustling on Ren’s side and then, to Sojiro’s surprise, a deep inhale followed by a reply filled with a confidence seemingly spawned from nowhere._

  
  


_“Yeah, I think… I think I will.”_

  
  


_A pause._

  
  


_“Thank you, Mr. Sakura. I-”_

  
  


_Sojiro actually smirks, in spite of himself._

  
  


_“Please, you’re gonna make me feel old if you keep calling me that. Just ‘Sojiro’ works fine,_ _kid_ _.”_

  
  


_Another pause._

  
  


_“...Okay, Sojiro. I-I’ll see you soon…?”_

  
  


_“Absolutely.”_

  
  


_And then, despite having no way of knowing it at the time, Sojiro makes the mistake of letting_ _his_ _overconfidence_ _forge_ _promises he cannot keep._

  
  


_“Things are going to be fine,_ _Ren._ _I promise.”_

  
  


_With that, the phone call ends and the respective parties begin playing out their assigned roles,_ _bliss_ _fully ignorant_ _of the terrible future they will be forced to overcome._ _A dark eye watches over them all, gleaming with an interest as innocent as it is twisted, as the last of the pieces finally slide into place on the board._

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


_**＞ＴＨＥ ＧＡＭＥ ＨＡＳ ＦＩＮＡＬＬＹ ＢＥＧＵＮ＜** _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [An undetermined amount of time before Chapter 1, Sojiro Sakura is awoken by a late night phone call from Ren Amamiya, who asks him for help escaping his abusive father after being told by his, now deceased, mother that Sojiro would be willing to do so.]
> 
> [Sojiro is skeptical until he hears the name of Ren's mother: Fumi Kurusu. This acts as proof that the two are related and spurs Sojiro to act, due to being close with Fumi in his youth.]
> 
> [Sojiro tells Ren to pack a bag and wait for him at a nearby 24 hour cafe.]
> 
> [Sojiro's daughter, Futaba Sakura, is enlisted to help and facilitates the fastest route to Ren possible by hacking into streetlights and speed traps.]
> 
> [Sojiro and Ren end the phone call right after Sojiro promises Ren that everything is going to be alright, despite the existence of ominous, otherworldly foreshadowing of events still yet to come.]


	5. Symptoms of Awakening

Suguru Kamoshida is having one hell of an unusual day.

It all started off about as normal as any other though. He’d woken up at the crack of dawn, gone for his standard 3 mile run, showered upon returning home and then proceeded to make breakfast for himself and his mother before leaving for school after getting a hug and goodbye kiss on the cheek.

The rest of the morning continued on in much the same way, all business as usual. From the way his first class seemed to drag on for an eternity, to the muted excitement beating in his chest as lunch rolled around. Lunch meant the day was halfway over and the day being halfway over meant volleyball practice was now only a few hours away. This, however, was also when things began a bizarre spiral into the uncanny.

It began with an unusual sense of déjà vu while explaining to his math teacher why his homework assignment had been so riddled with wrong answers. Numbers had a startling tendency to confuse him and his busy schedule didn’t afford much time in the way of remedial studying. His teacher, ever the patient type, had sighed in good-natured exasperation before offering to tutor him during lunch. Kamoshida had been all to happy to accept the help in his notoriously worst subject, despite the nagging feeling he’d already had this same exact conversation before.

The way his grateful acceptance slipped between his teeth felt so… Rehearsed? No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more… off kilter than that, like looking at a family portrait that’s had a distant cousin removed. If only he could put his finger on exactly what it was about the interaction that put him so ill at ease then maybe he wouldn’t have been so wrapped up in pondering it that he failed to notice when his feet carried him to the stairwell’s edge. The single, unexpected step down that followed had been all it took to send him tumbling to the bottom with only his outstretched arms as protection against gravity’s cruel embrace.

Darkness had overtaken him for a long time after that. Similar in many ways to the odd sensation of dreaming during a nap taken at uncommon hour of the day, flashes of light and color rushed by him, but none of it took on any semblance of recognizable forms. He felt weightless, his mind convinced that his body must be floating or possibly being carried someplace far away. Eventually, a deep chill soaked into his bones and roused him from the unnatural sleep holding him prisoner.

Waking up to the sight of the empty nurse’s office had been a mix of relieving and worrisome. He appeared to be in perfectly fine health, save for a slight pounding behind his eyes, but he’d never once, in myriad of times he’s been in here since joining the volleyball team, seen the nurse leave a student here unattended for any reason before. (Something to do with an incident a few years back where some third years had made it a habit of secretly meeting up there to get… _intimate_ between classes.)

Getting back on his feet had taken a bit more effort than he expected, mainly due to the way the walls and floor all seemed to squirm and writhe like a limbless animal when he first stood up. However, the odd sight passed as quick as it came and he merely shrugged it off as an understandable side-effect of his earlier stairwell tumble.

...But things had only become stranger from there.

The school had been eerily silent, save for the noises he made opening doors and stepping across the still immaculate linoleum. Every clock he could see all displayed the same time, a little bit before the end of the lunch break, and yet there wasn’t a soul to be found. All of the rooms were empty, all of the halls barren of life. Nowhere he looked provided him with anything remotely close to a hint as to where everyone had gone.

The auditorium, the gym, and even the principal’s office were all silent and without anyone to explain just what in the hell was going on. He’d tried to go outside and see if perhaps someone on the neighboring streets could help him figure things out, but every exit he tried to open simply refused to budge. Figuring them to be locked, he’d tried knocking on several to get the attention of someone on the other side, to no avail. The door’s frosted glass panels offered up nothing but vague smudges of indiscernible color tinted yellow by the midday sun, despite his best efforts. (He briefly considered breaking one to call for help, but discarded the idea at the thought of the potential repair costs neatly destroying his household’s already precarious savings account.)

So, after searching for nearly thirty minutes with nothing to show for it, Kamoshida’s breath began catching in his throat and cold sweat started beading on his lower back. The very slight signs of a burgeoning panic attack made themselves known to his harried brain while it failed to come up with anything bordering on a plausible explanation for his ridiculous circumstances.

That’s around the same time a lone thought blinked to the surface of his mind, forcing its way through all the stress and uncertainty with the power of a rampaging bull.

The **roof**.

If all of the exits were locked, then he could always get to the roof and just shout for help from anyone nearby. Surely, a pedestrian hearing a student yelling for assistance from atop a place like Shujin Academy would be more than enough to spur action! And, who knew, maybe he’d just see everyone gathered outside for some perfectly rational reason and everything would start making sense again!

With his plan of action now firmly established, something his increasingly anxious brain was eternally grateful for, Kamoshida made his way for the stairwell on a direct course for the rooftop. Except he ran into yet another unexpected situation before even getting his hands on the roof door’s knob.

As his hurried pace took him from the practice building and onto the third years’ floor, the sound of the school’s intercom blaring to life came dangerously close to giving him a heart attack. Even worse, he could only make out some of what was being broadcast and even that alone was enough to give him goosebumps from the unhinged nature of the erratic phrasings. It was as if a lunatic had broken into the broadcasting room and proceeded to vent every messed up thought in their equally messed up head.

Kamoshida would have just forgone any further investigation of all the noise in favor of making it to the roof to avoid potentially dealing with whatever psycho was presumably stalking the halls now, but the sound of a door slamming open followed by terrified breathing made him freeze. Immediately, the rational and emotional parts of his brain began warring with one another over what he should do next.

“ **Just get to the roof, there’s no telling what kind of insane bullshit is going on right now!”** Shouts his rational half. **“If there really is a crazy person on the loose then everyone evacuat** **ing** **the school** **makes perfect sense!”**

“ _But what if we just heard someone who needs help? It can’t be whoever just broadcasted all that insane talk, the broadcasting room is all the way on the ground floor!”_ Argues his emotional half.

“ **And there’s always the chance that there’s more than one psycho on the loose!”** Counters the rational half. **“You really want to run the risk of running into someone that unhinged? What if they have a knife or something, what then, huh?!”**

For a moment his emotional half doesn’t answer, seemingly subjugated by the reasonable assumptions presented by its opponent.

His rational side smugly huffs, happy with the unexpectedly easy victory. **“Exactly. What we need to do is get somewhere safe so we can make sure we get** **back** **home to mom.** **W** **e’re all she has left and we can’t just leave her alone like dad.”**

His emotional half almost whispers its rebuttal, _“..._ _But if it really is an innocent bystander, then would running away make us any different than him?”_ The very notion makes Kamoshida’s fists clench out of sheer frustration.

It’s also the same thought that spurs him to peek his head out from behind the corner he’d been about to round, only to find a male student with frizzy hair curled up on the floor opposite an open classroom doorway. The echoes of the mad broadcasts have already faded away to nothing by this point, so all Kamoshida can hear now is the ragged, fearful breathing of the unknown student as they struggle to pull themselves from their spot on the floor. And thanks to his exceptionally good eyesight, Kamoshida can even see the telltale pinpricks of tears forming in the corner of the student’s gray eyes when he turns to inadvertently lock eyes with him.

“ **...Well, t** **hat cinches it** **then,** **”** His rational half begrudgingly relents.

Next thing Kamoshida knows he’s standing directly next to the boy right as he starts coughing, seemingly choking on nothing.

“...Are you okay?”

The words feel strangely warm in his throat, like a deep gulp of hot tea on a winter afternoon.

The unknown student waves Kamoshida’s question off with one hand, still somewhat preoccupied with re-catching his breath after the coughing fit settles down. Mulling over his options results in Kamoshida settling on giving this boy the benefit of the doubt and taking him along to the roof. First though, he’ll need to get the dark haired kid back on his feet. Offering his hand to the still seated boy, he can’t help but smile a bit as the recipient looks at him like a stray cat being presented with a can of premium tuna.

“Need a hand?”

The gray-eyed boy hesitates for a half-second before gripping onto Kamoshida’s outstretched hand. Bracing himself for the upcoming effort of lifting his newfound acquaintance back on his feet proves unnecessary. The kid feels like he weighs less than a box of textbooks and might’ve been thrown into the air if not for Kamoshida quickly reigning in his strength.

(When was the last time this guy actually ate a proper meal…?)

After seeing the newcomer stumble a bit upon being so easily hauled to his feet, a twinge of sheepish embarrassment flushes Kamoshida’s face slightly red.

“Sorry, I guess you’re, uh, a little lighter than you look...?”

Kamoshida can’t help scratching the back of his head as he talks, a nervous habit he’d picked up from his mother.

The other boy merely gives a thumbs-up to affirm that there’s no harm done, which immediately lets Kamoshida relax and let go of the worry that he’d accidentally wretched the smaller boy’s arm out of its socket. It wouldn’t be the first time his strength got him in hot water with someone after forgetting how fragile non-athletes actually are.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Kamoshida takes a moment to glance over the other boy and picks up on a few things he probably should’ve noticed right away, but totally failed to thanks to his stress addled state. For starters, he honestly didn’t recognize him and the other immediately noticeable thing explained why: his collar had the insignia of a third year student.

(Ah, crap-!)

“Oh! You’re a third year! I didn’t even realize I was talking to my senpai.”

Kamoshida can only hope his social blundering hasn’t ruined what is effectively his first impression. A thought that his rational half can’t help but scream over with rants about how **that isn’t important right now, there might be a psychopath wandering the school as we speak and aren’t we supposed to be on the roof already-?!**

Ingrained reflex ends up overpowering all of that in the end, the brief bout of normal human interaction after the surreal events of the past hour acting as a much needed breath of fresh air and calming him down to the point where all his previous worrying almost feels silly now.

“Since this is our first meeting, please allow me to introduce myself! I’m a second year here at Shujin Academy and a member of the volleyball team. My name is Suguru Kamoshida, please treat me well.” Kamoshida punctuates his introduction with a firm bow, doing his absolute best to cover up the borderline rudeness of his earlier behavior.

When he doesn’t get any verbal response he can’t help but glance back up at the other boy for affirmation he’d even heard him. Again, for the second time that day, their eyes lock and Kamoshida finds himself marveling at how deep those gray eyes seem to be, almost like a bottomless well of storm clouds. They’re full of a familiar sadness he can’t help but recognize. It calls to him with words steeped in despair, demanding he face them with his entire being and his soul instinctively responds in kind.

That’s when it happens.

The walls and floor all start wildly convulsing for the second time that day as a voice loudly echoes in the forgotten recesses of Kamoshida’s heart, simultaneously foreign and desperately intimate all at once. It screams in abject horror at everything he has buried within himself since birth while also tenderly whispering not to give up searching for the future he’s always endeavored to grab hold of.

It is his own voice.

It is the voice of the Devil.

It is the voice of his mother.

It is the voice of an Angel.

**｢＂Ｉ ＡＭ ＴＨＯＵ．．． ＴＨＯＵ ＡＲＴ Ｉ．．．＂｣**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, we might be dealing with a Good Guy Kamoshida here.
> 
> Somebody notify the Canon Police!


End file.
